Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom, And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom. XIX. Fair all the pageant-but how passing fair Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined; And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine, Some strain that seem'd her inmost soul to find :— That favour'd strain was Surrey's raptured line, That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldine. XX. Slow roll'd the clouds upon the lovely form, O'er my beloved Master's glorious day. The gory bridal bed, the plunder'd shrine, The murder'd Surrey's blood, the tears of Geral dine ! XXI. Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong Rose Harold, bard of brave St. Clair ; And watch'd, the whilst, with visage pale, Had rapture for the lonely child. XXII. And much of wild and wonderful In these rude isles might fancy cull; Of Chiefs, who, guided through the gloom XXIII. HAROLD.7 O listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle." "Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. "The blackening wave is edged with white : strel's residence in the south. We prefer it, upon the whole, to either of the two former, and shall give it entire to our readers, who will probably be struck with the poetical effect of the dramatic form into which it is thrown, and of the indirect description by which every thing is most expressively told, without one word of distinct narrative."-JEFFREY. 8 "This was a family name in the house of St. Clair. Henry St. Clair, the second of the line, married Rosabelle, fourth daughter of the Earl of Stratherne. 9 See Appendix, Note 4 M. 10 Inch, isle. "Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed' round ladye gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch : Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?"— " "Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir « Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide, If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle."- O'er Roslin all that dreary night, A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; "Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moon-beam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; "Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud, Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie, Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply. Seem'd all on fire within, around, And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail.1 Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fairSo still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high St. Clair. There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 1 First Edit. "A wet shroud rolld." 2 First Edit. "It reddened," &c. 3 First Edit. "Both vaulted crypt," &c. 4 See Appendix, Note 4 N. 5 First Edit. "But the kelpie rung and the mermaids sung." 6 "I observe a great poetic climax, designed, doubtless, in the two last of these songs, from the first."-ANNA SEWARD, "We (G. Ellis and J. H. Frere) entertain some doubts about the propriety of dwelling so long on the minstrel songs in the last canto. I say we doubt, because we are not aware of your having ancient authority for such a practice; but though the attempt was a bold one, inasmuch as it is not usual to add a whole canto to a story which is already finished, we are far from wishing that you had left it unattempted."-Ellis to Scott. "The sixth canto is altogether redundant; for the poem should certainly have closed with the union of the And each St. Clair was buried there, With candle, with book, and with knell; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung, The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. XXIV. So sweet was Harold's piteous lay, Scarce mark'd the guests the darken'd hall, Though, long before the sinking day, A wondrous shade involved them all: It was not eddying mist or fog, And yet, as it came on apace, Each one could scarce his neighbour's face, A secret horror check'd the feast, Even the high Dame stood half aghast, The elvish page fell to the ground, And, shuddering, mutter'd, " Found! found! found!" XXV. Then sudden, through the darken'd air So broad, so bright, so red the glare, Full through the guests' bedazzled band It broke, with thunder long and loud, lovers, when the interest, if any, was at an end. But what could I do? I had my book and my page still on my hands, and must get rid of them at all events, Manage them as I would, their catastrophe must have been insufficient to occupy an entire canto; so I was fain to eke it out with the songs of the minstrels."-Scott to Miss Seward-Life, vol. ii. pp. 218, 222. 7 "The Goblin Page is, in our opinion, the capital deformity of the poem. We have already said the whole machinery is useless; but the magic studies of the lady, and the rifled tomb of Michael Scott, give occasion to so much admirable poetry, that we can, on no account, consent to part with them. The page, on the other hand, is a perpetual burden to the poet and to the readers; it is an undignified and improbable fiction, which excites neither terror, admiration, nor astonishment, but needlessly debases the strain of the whole work, and excites at once our incredulity and con XXVI. Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, Just where the page had flung him down, Some saw an arm, and some a hand, And some the waving of a gown. His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, And knew-but how it matter'd not- XXVII. The anxious crowd, with horror pale, And he a solemn sacred plight To some bless'd saint his prayers address'd: Some to St. Mary of the Lowes, Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle, Some to our Ladye of the Isle ; And monks should sing, and bells should toll, XXVIII. Nought of the bridal will I tell, Nor how brave sons and daughters fair XXIX. The standers-by might hear uneath, No lordly look, nor martial stride, Silent and slow, like ghosts they glide And there they knelt them down: XXX. And slow up the dim aisle afar, With sable cowl and scapular, And snow-white stoles, in order due, The holy Fathers, two and two, Taper and host, and book they bare, tempt. He is not a 'tricksy spirit,' like Ariel, with whom the imagination is irresistibly enamoured, nor a tiny monarch, like Oberon, disposing of the destinies of mortals; he rather appears to us to be an awkward sort of a mongrel between Puck and Caliban, of a servile and brutal nature, and limited in his powers to the indulgence of petty malignity, and the infliction of despicable injuries. Besides this objection to his character, his existence has no support from any general or established superstition. Fairies and devils, ghosts, angels, and witches, are creatures with whom we are all familiar, and who excite in all classes of mankind emotions with which we can easily be made to sympathize. But the history of Gilpin Horner was never believed out of the village where he is said to have made his appearance, and has no claims upon the credulity of those who were not originally of his acquaintance. There is nothing at all interesting or elegant in the scenes of which he is the hero; and in reading these passages we really could not help suspecting that they did not stand in the romance when the aged minstrel recited it to the royal Charles and his mighty earls, but were inserted afterwards to suit the taste of the cottagers among whom he begged his bread on the border. We entreat Mr. Scott to enquire into the grounds of this suspicion, and to take advantage of any decent pretext he can lay hold of for purging the 'Lay' of this ungraceful intruder.3 We would also move for a quo warranto against the Spirits of the River and the Mountain; for though they are come of a very high linenge, we do not know what lawful business they could have at Branksome Castle in the year 1550."—JEFFREY. 1 See Appendix, Note 4 0. 2 Ibid. Note 4 P. 3 See the Author's Introduction to the 'Lay,' p. 4 And holy banner, flourish'd fair Then mass was sung, and prayers were said, And bells toll'd out their mighty peal, XXXI. HYMN FOR THE DEAD. That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day! When, shriveling like a parched scroll, 1 "the vale unfolds Rich groves of lofty stature, With Yarrow winding through the pomp And, rising from those lofty groves, Behold a ruin hoary, The shattered front of Newark's towers, Renown'd in Border story. "Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For manhood to enjoy his strength; And age to wear away in," &c. WORDSWORTH's Yarrow Visited. 2 Bowhill is now, as has been mentioned already, a seat of the Duke of Buccleuch. It stands immediately below Newark Hill, and above the junction of the Yarrow and the Ettrick. For the other places named in the text, the reader is referred to various notes on the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.-ED. 3 Orig." And grain waved green on Carterhaugh." "The arch allusions which run through all these Introductions, without in the least interrupting the truth and graceful pathos of their main impression, seem to me exquisitely characteristic of Scott, whose delight and pride was to play with the genius which nevertheless mastered him at will. For, in truth, what is it that gives to all his works their unique and marking charm, except the matchless effect which sudden effusions of the purest heart-blood of nature derive from their being poured out, to all appearance involuntarily, amidst dic Oh! on that day, that wrathful day, HUSH'D is the harp-the Minstrel gone. And did he wander forth alone! Alone, in indigence and age, To linger out his pilgrimage! No; close beneath proud Newark's tower,' A simple hut; but there was seen Bore burden to the Minstrel's song. tion and sentiment cast equally in the mould of the busy world, and the seemingly habitual desire to dwell on nothing but what might be likely to excite curiosity, without too much disturbing deeper feelings, in the saloons of polished life? Such outbursts come forth dramatically in all his writings; but in the interludes and passionate parentheses of the Lay of the Last Minstrel we have the poet's own inner soul and temperament laid bare and throbbing before us. Even here, indeed, he has a mask, and he trusts it but fortunately it is a transparent one. "Many minor personal allusions have been explained in the notes to the last edition of the Lay.' It was hardly necessary even then to say that the choice of the hero had been the Baron of Cranstoun; and now-none who have perused dictated by the poet's affection for the living descendants of the preceding pages can doubt that he had dressed out his Margaret of Branksome in the form and features of his own first love. This poem may be considered as the 'bright consummate flower' in which all the dearest dreams of his youthful fancy had at length found expansion for their strength, spirit, tenderness, and beauty. "In the closing lines Hush'd is the harp-the Minstrel gone; No!-close beneath proud Newark's tower |